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In the Ross Geller I’m Fine Shirt it is in the first place but meantime, Sarah was directing operations from her sitting room, where she was recovering from her own Easter lunch. Her beady eye missed nothing. I decided to keep the blueberry for a rainy day, but I had a red fruit and grape compote that had produced juice I’d also used to make a week’s worth of individual jellies (thank you, Daisy, the menu gift that kept on giving). “Delicious,” said Sarah. “We’ll make a crumble for that.” Friends had all told me different things about preparing a roast chicken (twenty minutes in the oven upside down, lather it in orange juice), but Sarah was having none of it. Lemon, garlic, a couple of sprigs of rosemary, and a drizzle of olive oil seemed to do the trick—along with honey for the carrots.
I couldn’t understand how she could remember the Ross Geller I’m Fine Shirt it is in the first place but number of various things I had bubbling on the hob when even I didn’t—and they were there in front of me—or how she knew precisely what moment to turn hobs up or cool things down, but the instructions came thick and fast. The only laborious process was skimming the fat off the cooking juices that would make the gravy. “Just look!” Sarah screeched. “All that yellow liquid has to go—you haven’t even started! Do you have an opened bottle of wine?” she asked. Although I haven’t drunk in three years (and after she assured me that the alcohol would burn off), I looked around and, funnily enough, I did have an opened bottle with a cork in it (and such a pretty label). Moreover, it smelled good—in fact, extraordinarily good. Why ever had I kept a half-empty bottle like this all this time, I wondered? “Add a bloody great splosh,” said my sister. Then, “add another. Be generous.”